Pretty Boy
by TD0ggie
Summary: It's three in the morning and Phil Lester expects nothing but a piping hot cup of coffee at his favorite late night cafe, but what he finds there is so much more...
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is my first story so I'm really sorry if it sucks, but if, by chance, you happen to read it, comments and feedback mean the world to me.

Right, here goes:

It's a windy night in late autumn, and the chilly promise of winter threatens to freeze us all. The entire street is bathed in the weary light of street lamps, and the shadows pool around me. Shivering slightly, I glance at the trees around me, only to be punished for my daydreaming with a swift leaf to the face. Brushing it off, I run the rest of the way, straight to my destination, a little building with a neon coffee sign that flickers, looking almost as tired as I am. Eager to escape the cold, I swing open the door and dash inside, hearing a slight tinkling from the bell that's been tied to the handle since forever. It's nearly two in the morning, now, and the entire cafe is nearly deserted, save some lonely three people. There's the waitress, hunched over the counter looking bored, and twirling a plastic fork as she stares at a pot of coffee. There's a strawberry blonde girl sat in a booth by herself, boots up on the leather seats, clearly not giving a damn as she types furiously on a laptop. Lastly, there's a brown haired boy in a hoodie sitting at a table by himself on his phone, leaning over the table and scrolling through some social media. I'm looking at an abandoned menu at a table when I hear my name.

"Phil? Oh my gosh, it's you! It's been such a long time!"

It's the waitress, and she smiles warmly at me, pouring a cup of coffee.

"Janice! It's great to see you! How's the shop been doing?"

She hands me the cup of coffee, black, with two sugars, just how I like it, "It's alright, business has been going alright, I guess." She lowers her voice slightly, grinning, "See that brown haired boy? He comes here every night..."

I raise my eyebrows at her, "Oh? Have you tried talking to him?"

She looks down, blushing at the counter, "Well, apart from bringing him coffee, no.. He's always on this app, this blue app with a T on the icon..."

"Oh, Twitter!" It must be, I think.

"No, I don't think so, it has these long posts and photos and things... But Phil, Phil! Isn't he just wonderful!" She leans on the table, chin in her hands, and sighs dreamily, "And he's got these eyes..."

I smirk at her, on the verge of bursting into laughter, "Sounds like somebody's got a crush on the brown haired boy, hm Janice?" I say, wiggling my eyebrows.

She flushes, "I do not! I just think that he's really cute and adorable and I want to ask him out, and I love his eyes. But I don't have a crush on him!"

"Sure, Janice. Sure."

Just as she's about to slap me, the strawberry blonde in the booth calls over.

"So, am I getting my coffee? Please, I've got a paper due in the morning, I really need this..."

Janice sighs, pouring the girl a cup of coffee, "That's Hayley... She's exhausted, she's having finals for this intensive course she's taking in music history."

I look over at the boy at the table, and turn back to Janice, "Alright, I'm going to go and try talk to brown-eyes over there, alright? Hey, maybe I'll get him to notice you, hm?"

Before she can protest, I'm already halfway across the room, striding over to the table. I tap his shoulder, and he turns around, giving me a what-are-you-bothering-me-for type of look. My stomach flops around a little bit, but I convince myself to say something.

"Uhm, excuse me, but... Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

I mentally slap myself in the face as he looks at me, perplexed. He looks like he's about to protest, but then he sighs, apparently too tired to care about the blatant lies I'm clearly feeding him. I sit, wincing at the awfully loud screech that the chair makes as I drag it out. He turns off his phone, putting it in the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and looks at me. Slightly self conscious, I run my fingers through my hair, looking over at Janice, who's busy giving Hayley her coffee.

"So..."

"So...?"

"I'm Dan."

Dan. That's a cute name, I guess, I can see why Janice likes him. She was right, I guess, about his gorgeous eyes. Brown eyes aren't just brown, I hate it when people say that. Brown eyes are the color of hazelnuts on oak wood, light and dark, and sometimes you can even get lost in them if you stare at them long enough...

"And you're...?"

I snap back into reality, "Phil, I'm Phil, I'm..."

He raises his eyebrows, "You're... let me guess... Phil?"

I wince at how awkward I sound, "Yeah, I'm Phil. And you're Dan. So, Dan..."

Why am I getting so flustered? I'm just talking to him for Janice! I should mention Janice, yeah...

"Right, so you know Janice?"

He seems taken aback by my sudden change of topic, "Janice?"

"Yeah, the coffee girl? She's, uh... kind of cute, huh?"

He shrugs, "I guess. Why, do you like her or something?"

"What? What, no! I was just, uh, I was just commenting on her wonderful looks, or something..."

He laughs at me, "Oh, you totally like her! Yes, you do! Come on, you have to go talk to her!"

Oh no, this isn't going at all in the right direction at all.

"Uhm, Dan, I don't know, I don't think that I should-"

"Go!" He pushes me towards her, grinning as I stumble towards the counter. I turn around quickly before she can see me, hastily sitting back down.

"No, I can't do that! Janice is my best friend! And besides, I don't like her!"

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Ouch, that's rough buddy, but come on, don't deny it!"

But to tell the truth, I'm not lying. I look at Janice, at her beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes, just like mine, but... I don't feel anything. I mean, yes, she's lovely, but... I just can't see myself liking her. I look back at Dan, and his gorgeous dark eyes, and something feels... different.

I shake my head, clearing these strange thoughts from my mind.

"No, Dan, nah, Janice and I... We're just friends, I met her at the shop a few months ago and we've never been... like that." I look back at him, "So, what about you and her, then? I mean, you're both reasonably attractive, and-"

"Are you hitting on me?"

I feel my face flush, "No! No, god no, I'm not- I just meant to-"

"Relax!" He grins, "I was kidding! But really, though, Janice seems lovely, but she's not really my type."

"Alright, well she likes you quite a bit, you know..."

He looks surprised, and turns to see her still chatting to Hayley, "Oh... I had no idea.. Look, Phil, tell her that I'm really sorry, but... I don't know, I'm just not into girls like her..."

I nod, and he mutters something under his breath I can't quite hear that sounds like "orsgisrrls sof fdanytype..."

"What was that?" I ask.

"Nothing! Nothing," He says, blushing.

"Alright, well I should head out, it's late..." I say, gathering my things and waving to Janice.

"Sure, see you!" He says, smiling, "I'll probably be here for a while, I think... Maybe until the sun comes up. I don't.. I don't quite like the dark." He looks down, and his smile lessens slightly.

"Really?" I bite my lip, "Well you know, I have to go now, but... Next time, just let me know, alright? And maybe I can walk you home or something."

"Alright, Bye, Phil!"

"Bye, Dan..."


	2. Chapter 2

As I pour myself a cup of coffee, I find my mind wandering to the brown eyed boy again. Dan, it was, Dan Howell is what I remember Janice telling me. Why was I so flustered when I talked to him? I know I'm not the most social person, but it shouldn't have been that bad. In fact, thinking back on it now, Dan was really quite lovely... The way his eyes were so chocolatey, and his smile seemed so relaxed, and-

Gosh, why am I thinking these things? It's not like he's anything special, though I do see why Janice likes him. She's perfectly right about his gorgeous features, and those skinny jeans...

I'm doing it again! Wow, this coffee must really be messing with me... I haven't slept in some two days, which is a new low for me. That must be it. Ever since I moved to my new apartment, I've been so busy with videos and paperwork for the new apartment, last night was the first time I'd left the house in a little under a week... I flip open my video camera, pushing back my fringe and smiling. I'm about to press the "record" button when an outburst of rapping comes from the front door of my flat. My stomach flops, and the first person that pops into my mind is none other than brown-eyes himself, but I shake the thought from my head and walk over to open the door.

Standing there is, not Dan, but Janice, smiling up at me in a jumper and jeans, with her bright blue electric eyes. Something in my heart deflates a little in disappointment, and I can't quite pinpoint why. Smiling, I invite her inside, setting the kettle to a boil, and sitting her down in the living room. As she sits on the sofa, she beams up at me, taking a cup of coffee as I hand it to her.

"So, what brings you here?" I ask, eager to hear the story behind her overexcited grin.

She let out a squeal of delight, and said, "So I talked to Dan again, today!"

I do feel bad, I knew that Dan didn't like her, not that way, but a part of me thought it might be best not to tell her that.

"-and then he smiled at me! Phil, Phil, Phil! He knows my name!"

I sigh, quietly taking a sip of coffee, "Yeah, he seems really cute, I think you two would be nice together." I say absently. I'm not lying completely, though. I do think he seems really cute. I'm not really paying attention to her avid storytelling, and I'm not sure if that makes me a bad friend or not, but that's not what I'm focused on right now. My mind has wandered back to the coffee shop. For some reason, I have an inexplicable urge to go back. I've been there often enough, since my best friend works there, and I suppose it must just be habit.

Sometime later that night, at around ten o clock, I find myself strolling down the street towards that same neon coffee sign above the shop where Janice works, and I pull open the door, shivering slightly from the winter chill that's only just settled in. The familiar tinkling of the bell tied to the handle on the door clicks, and I slide into a booth next to Hayley, who's slumped against the table. She's something of a mess, smudged mascara streaking down her face, and wearing an old sweatshirt covered in blotted ink stains.

"Uhm... Hayley?" I ask, poking her gently on the arm. She grunts quietly.

"You okay there?"

Groaning, she sits up, rubbing her eyes and smudging her makeup further. From the dark circles under her eyes to the state of her clothing, I'm frankly impressed she's still talking to me. After she's finished smudging her mascara to the point where she looks like some sort of zombie, she stares at me and says one word.

"Finals."

Ah.

Leaving Hayley to her coffee and smudged eyeliner, I can't help but feel that something's missing. Somebody is missing... Dan's not here, and I don't know why that bothers me so much. To be honest, he was a bit of an arse when I met him. Then again, I didn't really give him my best first impression, either.

Sighing, I sip my coffee and scroll through my Twitter feed. Save a few tweets from excited fans, my notifications are relatively empty. I reply to one of them, a fan who has tweeted me at least fourteen times by now. Clicking on the tweet "Hi, Phil! Ilysm, and I got tickets to vidcon this year! Will you be there? Xoxo Audrey 3" and type a quick response: "No, sorry, I probably won't be able to afford Vidcon this year... I love you too, though!"

Just as I'm about to send the tweet, a voice speaks from behind me.

"So, who is it that you 'love'?"

I recognize the sarcastic voice of none other than Dan, as he slides into the chair across from me. As seems to be his custom, he's dressed from head to toe in the blackest black that ever blacked.

Hiding my phone by instinct, I blush, "Oh, nothing. Just someone that tweeted me, no one special...

Raising his eyebrows in disbelief, he takes off his backpack, pulls out his (black, of course) computer, promptly ignoring me.

What an arse.

Miffed by his rudeness, I stand up and push my chair in. It's late, anyways, I should really be getting back. Gathering my things, I push past Dan and walk towards the door. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk out the door, I can already envision it, the smug smirk stretched across his lips...

I shake my head as I hear the bell on the handle of the door rattle behind me. Congratulations to Daniel Howell, arsehole of the year.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N. Hey guys, I'm really sorry that I haven't been updating very often! I promise that I'll try really hard. I'd like your guys' feedback to see what direction you want the story to go in, because, to be honest, I haven't completely gotten the story figured out yet. (Because I'm a piece of shit who doesn't know how to write plots) Thanks! ~Sher~

"He's gay!"

I bury my face in my hands, feeling bleary and exhausted, "No, Hayley, he's not gay, come on!"

She stares at me for a moment, tapping her fingers against her leg.

"...You sure?"

I sigh in exasperation, "Yes, I'm sure! Jan, why is this so important to you? He's not even that special! And frankly, he's quite the arse."

Janice sits opposite me on the worn leather booth, tapping a pencil against the table, "Because! Why doesn't he like me?"

"Come on, there are other boys in the world! He's not that important, just let him go!"

Gathering my things into my bag, I rise, "Look, I've got a lot of stuff to do, and it's already really late..." And without another word, I push open the jingling door and walk out.

They say that women don't feel safe at night.

Clad in only a thin jacket, a tee shirt, and jeans, I shiver in the frosty air, watching my breaths float away like miniature clouds in the air, and for the first time, I understand why they don't feel safe.

The darkness is enveloping, parted only by the bleary street lights that glare down from above. It's completely quiet as I walk down the road, past little suburban houses with the little suburban lawns, probably having little suburban families sleeping soundly inside. I can hear only the muffled padding of my own feet as I continue to briskly walk, attempting, to no avail, to work some warmth into my body. Anything could be behind me at this moment, lurking in the shadows and waiting for me, crouching low in the dark.

The few feet of light provided by the street lamps are poorly spaced, leaving me to walk through quite a bit of darkness between each lamp. Somewhere in the distance before me, I hear a soft padding sound, and I can't help but feel I'm being followed. What for, though? Why would anyone want to follow me? I wrap my coat tighter around my body, though this does nothing to make me warmer, and push ahead, getting faster. Now I'm absolutely sure, my sense of paranoia has taken over, and I am convinced that someone or something is following me. It would be so easy, too, to stay just behind me, silently waiting for the right moment to strike...

I break into a run, heavily breathing the thin air, and wondering how much longer it'll be until I reach my house, and I hear the footsteps go faster in front of me, like something is running to meet me. Panicking, I continue to run and run, terrified that whatever that noise is will capture me!

Faster, and faster, adrenaline pumping through my veins, irrationality sewn into my mind by the pitch black night and the stone cold silence, I am so very afraid. I keep gaining speed, trying to go faster, not even looking where I'm going, until I approach a corner, and I round it, not bothering to see what's beyond it, nor what street I turn onto.

WHAM! Suddenly my vision is blinded, and my left shoulder feels awfully wrong, as does my right ankle. I've hit something, I know I have, but I just don't know what. Perhaps a lamppost? Oh, the pain works its way through my shoulder into my torso, burning but freezing simultaneously. It's only now that I realize I'm on the ground, curled up in the fetal position. A million thoughts race through my mind. Still shivering from the frigid atmosphere, I tuck myself tighter into a ball, though this does not exactly help with my shoulder. Is it broken? No, I don't think so, bruised maybe? The ankle is definitely twisted, I know that, and it feels awfully wrong at such an angle beneath me. But surely, if it had been a lamppost, I might have broken it... No, it wasn't a lamppost, it was something much softer...

A hand touches my arm, shaking me slightly to ensure I'm awake, "Oh my god, are you alright?"

Oh god, whoever was walking towards me has found me! I-

Wait... I know that voice.

Rubbing my eyes to clear the clouds from my vision, I blink up to see none other than my absolute favorite person, Dan Howell. His sarcastic smirk has been wiped right off, though, and he stares down at me with nothing but concern in those dark brown eyes. Frowning, I try to pick myself up the ground, only for my shoulder to give out beneath me.

He tenses, reaching for my arm to help me to my feet, "I'm really sorry, I- Oh, it's you!"

I sigh, resigning to the floor, "Yes, it's me. Now would you help me up?"

He grasps his hand in mine, long slender fingers intertwining, and pulls me up. I almost immediately topple as I try to stand; my twisted ankle cannot stand my weight yet. He sees me, though, as I'm about to fall, and rushes to catch me before I tumble back to the floor.

A few minutes later, with my arm around his shoulder and his around my waist to stand, I can start properly, and I turn to look at him, "It's Dan, right? Dan Howell?"

He raises his eyebrows, "This is the third time we've met, you know. I'd expect you to know my name by now... But, since we're on names, I might as well be sure, Phil, right?"

Still in the awkward position, leaned against him, pressed tight to his body to support myself, I answer, "Yeah, Phil Lester. Look, uhm, I'm really sorry, but I've twisted my ankle... My house is just down that way," I cringe at how cheesy and played out it sounds, "...would you walk me?"

To my surprise, he smiles warmly, "Sure! I was just on my way down to the coffee shop, but I'd rather be here, to be honest. I don't like walking alone, at night, anyways."

Trying my hardest not to sound like a stalker, I ask,"How far do you live? If the dark bothers you so much, we could walk together. We always arrive around the same time anyways." I blush, it really does sound like I'm hitting on him. I'm not, though, I'm just being friendly! My feelings for him are filled with nothing but good intentions and well meaning, that's all.

We've almost reached my flat, and walking has become considerably easier, leaning against him.

He smiles again, "Actually, it's just a few blocks down that road there. That sounds great, though! How about eleven tomorrow night, here?"

We're at the door now, and I lean against it, smiling back,"Yeah, sure that sounds good! I'll see you then!""

He grins, "Alright, it's a date! See you!" And he turns around quickly, walking away and melding into the dark.

"...Dan?" I call out after him. I don't know what I want to say, but I don't want him to leave, either.

He turns to look at me, "Yeah?"

My cheeks flush, I have nothing to say! Flustered, I reply, "Yeah, it's a date, it sounds good, it's... Okay, bye!"

He flashes me one last gorgeous smile before leaving again, walking off into the distance and fading quickly into the shadows.

I lean against the railing of the stairs, still smiling like an idiot. Dan Howell. Wow, what a boy.


	4. Chapter 4

I look myself up and down in the mirror, frowning.

It's an old mirror, it's been in my apartment since I first moved in, and it's got a rusted brass frame around the edges. The reflection is slightly warped in some places, and there's a crack running down the bottom left corner, but other than that I suppose it's alright.

I think the same thing about myself, as I smooth down my shirt, pulling on a jacket. It's not that I find myself unattractive, but I don't find myself particularly attractive either. Oh well, I suppose, I don't look completely awful. Today is, in fact, one of my better days I believe, and I smile slightly at my reflection as I take my phone off of my desk.

There isn't much use denying it at all, I'm very excited, and thoughts race through my mind as I pull on a jacket.

My head is full of thoughts, and I'm inexplicably nervous.

A date.

A date?

What did he mean? Surely he meant it was only an appointment, a meeting of two people. There was only one other possibility, but that was near impossible, right? But surely not, he must have only meant it was an appointment. A small part of me deflates, but I shouldn't be disappointed. What do I have to be disappointed about? It's not a date date, it's just... A meeting. That's all.

~Dan P.O.V~

Oh my god, I'm so fucking stupid!

Why did I ask him out, why would I do that!

He's probably weirded out now, he probably won't even show up, what have I done! For a moment, you know, I actually thought that he might like me, I actually thought that I might have a chance, but now I've gone and ruined it, isn't that just fine and dandy!

I let myself fall onto the duvet, groaning into my pillow. How could I have been so stupid? I really, really wanted him to like me, from the first moment I saw him in that coffee shop. I remember, those eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, the kind that you could fall into and get lost. Phil's gorgeous eyes, eyes that aren't just eyes, but entire universes trapped into his irises. And his features, so delicate and intricately carved. I remember all of these things about him, and more, I remember his coal black hair, and the way the tip of his tongue poked out when he laughed, but he... he could barely remember my name.

The first time we had met, he had come over to my table, my heart had been racing, and I couldn't believe it, this perfect, gorgeous boy had chosen to talk to me! I'd said hello to him, I was so nervous, but then he left...

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, and slip on a thin sweater, letting it fall over my slim form. It's ten forty five now, and I ought to get going, so I creak the door open. I slide through the gap, and walk out into the freezing air. The cold shoots daggers into my skin, and I shiver. The sweater does little to keep any heat I may have had in, and the dark swirls around me, kept at bay only by the dull flicker of the street lamps.

~Phil P.O.V.~

Two minutes, two minutes until he arrives! I'm nervous with excitement, and I check my watch again, waiting anxiously for eleven o-clock.

There's a knock on the door, and I pull it open to find him standing there, smiling faintly. He's not wearing much to protect from the cold, just a small sweater draped over his slight frame. His breath fogs in the air, and his chocolatey brown eyes are fixed on a spot just left of my head, glazed over. He's lost himself in far off thoughts, and I muse on what he might be thinking.

"Dan, hey! You ready?"

He snaps out of his daze, and nods quickly, "Yeah, you?"

I smile at him, and join him out by the twisted brass railing, "Shall we?"

He looks oddly flustered for some reason, and blushes, "We sha- ...yeah. Yeah, let's go."

As we walk side by side, I can't help but remember last night, remember being pressed tight against him as he supported me. I wonder if he's thinking about the same thing, but his eyes are glued to the ground and he seems abnormally quiet. Glancing closer, I see that he's shivering, and his arms are folded tight across his sweater, hugging his body to keep what little heat he may have contained.

~Dan P.O.V~

There's nothing in the dark. There's nothing waiting to find me. There's nothing there.

Or so I try to convince myself as I tread along next to phil. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep as warm as I can, but the cold seeps in, just like the dark. The dark, and its blackened tendrils, swirling around in the shadows, waiting for someone to prey upon. The dark, and its never-ending presence, always quietly sitting in the corners of a room, patiently awaiting a victim. The dark, and-

"Dan?"

His eyes are full of concern as he turns to look at me, and worry shadows his face as he sees me shaking. I'm cold, freezing even, but I mustn't let him know that. I don't want him to think I'm weak, or that I can't handle a little weather...

"...Dan?"

Fuck, he's noticed. He sounds troubled as he faces me, stopping in his tracks. I stop as well, hoping that he's not going to confront me, "Hm?"

He slips his right hand out of his glove and reaches out tentatively, pulling mine from my jacket pocket into the raw air. His skin is warm against mine, and as we touch electricity seems to spark across the icy atmosphere around us, causing my hair to stand on end.

He stares up at me, and consternation has flooded his pale face.

"You're cold." He says quietly, looking down at my hand, still held warmly by his.

I look down, "I'm not that cold."

It's a lie, but I don't want him to think I'm bothered by things like this. I don't want him to know that I'm afraid of the dark, I don't want him to know any of these things.

Without speaking, he slips off his jacket, a thick fleece zip up with pom poms on the drawstrings, and pulls it around my shoulders. He takes my other hand, and pulls on his glove, then returns to holding my right with his, interlocking and keeping each other warm.

He smiles up at me, electric blue eyes sparkling against the street lamps, "Better?"

I smile back at him, and as I do I'm suddenly captivated by his lovely features. The slight curve of his nose, and the way his eyes are always wide open to drink in the world. The way his lips always tilted upwards in a slight smile, even when he wasn't trying, and oh god, the way that this boy could laugh and solve all of the world's problems.

I clasp my hand tighter around his, and weave our fingers tighter, grinning at him, "Yeah, better. Much better."

And as we walk into the darkness together, joined at the hand, I know for certain that I am not lying.

A./N. Hey guys! Sorry this chapter was shit, I've been stressing a lot over the start of school. I hope I didn't give you whiplash from the different P.O.V.s! Sorry, I just felt I needed a Dan P.O.V., I don't know. Anyways, I've got some twenty reads now, isn't that amazing! I still don't have much idea where the story is going, but if you've got any ideas, feel free to comment them somewhere! Thanks a lot for commenting, feedback is always appreciated, etc. etc. etc. Love you guys! 3 ~Sher


	5. Chapter 5

*Phil P.O.V.*  
The moon shines all too bright through the thick fog, piercing through the air and mist. It's eleven o-clock at night, and I sit on the curb outside, waiting for the boy who's hand I held as we walked together through the dark on that first night. The boy that I've been walking with for the past three days, who doesn't notice that I stare into his eyes when we talk. Sometimes I don't pay attention at all, and I get lost in the dark swirls of his hair, so curly when he doesn't straighten it to death. The air has only grown frostier as winter approaches, and the dark is suffocatingly close to me, pressing up against the thin bubble my porch light provides. I tap my fingers lightly on my leg as I wait for him, this has always been a habit of mine. Sometimes I worry that someone will think I'm drumming my fingers to the rhythm, but the truth is that I've worked out the piano notes to my favorite songs, and I play them when I'm bored.

G F# B E

I look into the dark, wondering why he's late this time. Maybe he's forgotten about me.

D G C

The cold presses in, and I'm torn between running inside to get a thicker jacket, or continuing to wait.

B E A D

I bury my chin in my jacket, and glance into the gloom again. I hear soft padding footsteps in the distance, and I sit up straighter, straining to hear if it's him.

It is. Out of the darkness melts pretty boy himself, who's dressed so darkly that I'm sure he could blend into the night with ease. I stare a him for a moment, simply to drink in his appearance. He grins at me, "Ready?" I nod, and together we head off into the icy street.

We've been walking and talking for five minutes or so when he turns and says to me, "So, what music do you like?"

I search through my mind to find my favorite band, and it's definitely Muse, right now, at least.

"Yeah, I really like Muse right now," I say, trying to sound casual, and I pause, adding, "Although Fall Out Boy, they're alright too, I think."

His face lights up,"I love Muse! You know, we should hang out some time, I've got quite a few of the albums, you can borrow them, if you want!" He hesitates, "but Fall Out Boy... I haven't heard of them... Are they good?"

I smile at him, "Yeah, they're pretty good, I've got some on my phone, let me show you..." I fumble through my pockets to find my phone, and extract a mess of tangles earphones as well. I carefully pick apart the knots, and plug the cable into the slot on my phone.

Dan holds out his hand for an earphone expectantly, smiling at me, his dimples pulling in, "Come on, then, hit me up!"

I try and process this, but my mind is a blur, I can't think straight. I simply stand there and stare at him blankly, "You want me to... hit you?"

He stares back at me for a moment, and then breaks into laughter, burying his forehead into his right hand, he's gorgeous when he laughs, and he says, laughing so hard he can barely breathe, "Not literally, you spork!"

Spork, that's a funny name to call someone, I suppose. Hm. He really does pronounce his words strangely.. Literally. Lit-er-a-lly. Litrally. Litralee. Li-tra-lee.

"And- Phil?"

I'm jolted back to reality, "Yeah! Sorry I was, uh, sorry, I was, sorry..." I trail off lamely as he turns to look at me. I could melt, just looking at his hair, and his eyes, and the way that he laughs, and-

"Phil, we're almost there! Come on!"

"Yeah, I- alright, I-"  
Before I can finish my sentence, he breaks into a run, about to sprint the last few hundred feet to the shop. He grabs my hand, and pulls me with him, and together we run, joined at the wrist, to the bleary neon coffee sign. It feels right. His fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between mine, and for a brief moment, I wonder if the same could be said for our lips. I turn to look at him, and he's lost in the moment, his jacket flapping madly behind him as we run wildly.

We don't make it that far, before he slows to a stop, completely winded. We're still holding hands, and I'm high on the rush of the moment, staring into his eyes. His gorgeous, lovely dark eyes, oak on mahogany. He stares back into mine, his and in that moment, everything is bliss, I could melt into his stare, and I wish it would last forever.

It doesn't. He breaks his gaze, and looks down at our hands, intertwined perfectly in a mess of fingers. A moment of realization crosses his face, and my heart drops to the floor. He looks worried, and drops my hand, no, please don't. Please don't let go, please don't. This is wrong, this is all wrong, why is he getting upset, have I done something wrong? Please don't be mad at me, please. Please.

"I-" He starts to say something, but then looks back at our hands, apart at our sides, "-Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry, I- fuck," and before I can say anything, he breaks away from my stare, and backs away, before turning suddenly and sprinting off into the night.

I'm left standing with only a bruise on my heart and the spaces between my fingers to prove he was ever here at all.

*Dan P.O.V.*

My phone buzzes on the table next to me, shivering across the wood and making that abominable sound that vibrating phones make on tables. I know that it's him. It's been him for the past eighteen times, and now I don't even bother to check. I sigh, and roll over onto the sheets, feeling sticky. I don't know why I feel sticky, but I suppose that's what happens when you stay in your bed for three days straight and eat all your meals there. I wonder how much food had spilled... No, I decide not to think about it, that is not something I want to ponder, particularly as I plan to spend the rest of the week here. Or maybe forever. Forever sounds good too.

I don't know why I'm feeling so sad, I honestly don't, and it makes me feel sick, and hot, and sticky, and I hate that I don't know. The last time I saw Phil was... Three. No, four? Three and a half days ago. We'd been walking, as we normally do, to the cafe, and we'd been holding hands under the streetlights, and I'd... I'd run away. I don't know why. I don't, I just don't, but I'm sure that he hates me for leaving. I haven't talked to him in three days, he must hate me so much, he hates me, he hates me, he hates me, I hate me, he hates me, I'm sure.

The phone buzzes again. He's probably calling to shout at me, he probably thinks I'm selfish, he probably hates me.

I don't blame him. I hate me too.

I sigh back into my sheets, and settle in for the fifth season of Game of Thrones, when a brusque outburst of tapping comes from the door. Should I answer it? No, I'm much too lazy right now. Besides, I'd quite like to find out if Joffrey dies in this episode.

The knocking continues.

What if it's him?

No.

Another knock.

No, I won't answer it.

"Daniel fucking Howell, open your door. I know you're in there. Come on, open up! I'm not leaving you in there to rot. "

Well, shit. I'd better go and see who it is.

Author's Note: Woowee, another chapter! Ten comments on each one! Wow support, that feels nice! Anyways I've been having a really hard time at school, so I'm really sorry for the long wait! Love you guys! 3


	6. Chapter 6

I freeze, fingertip hovering over the play button on my computer. I tilt my head to the side slightly, waiting to see if they were going to knock again.

...No, nothing yet-

"Daniel James fucking Howell, open this door this instant, or I swear to go, I will shove my hair curler so far up your arse-"

"Jesus Christ Louise, I'm coming!"

"You will not be able to feel a thing down there for WEEKS-"

I sigh, shrugging off my blanket. I can't help that think this would be much better if I had a snuggie. You see, if I had a snuggie, I wouldn't have to take off my blanket, I could simply march to the door, snuggie-clad, and demand why she was bothering me in the midst of this most important occasion. That occasion, of course, being my monthly Game of Thrones marathon. Jesus, Joffrey, that absolute dick.

"Daniel, did you not just hear me? I have my curling iron right down in my apartment, you know, and I hear it hurts an awful lot when-"

"Okay! Okay! I surrender, I'm coming! I'm coming, okay, I'm coming!" I push my burning hot laptop aside and stand to answer the door, yawning loudly.

I push open the door and she immediately sets off, "You have not answered ANY of my calls, not to mention your friends have been worried sick, Chris has been out of his mind and PJ wanted to call the police! Do you not realize how much trouble you've put us thr- oh my god, look at you!"

"Mm?"

She raises her eyebrows at me, "You're literally covered in crumbs, you look like you haven't slept in days, and oh, Dan, you've got hobbit hair!"

I groan, "I don't care, Louise, go away! Just leave me alone to watch Joffrey die, it's been three fucking seasons and-"

She grabs my hand as it's about to press the play button, and looks into my eyes, full of concern, "Dan, that's not really what this is about, is it?"

I look at her, and I know she wants to help me, I know she'll listen to me. Should I tell the truth?

Maybe...

"Yes, that's what this is about, I just want to see that little fuck get his head impaled on a stake in king's landing!"

Nope.

"Unbelievable," she says, shaking her head at me, "absolutely unbelievable, can't you see I'm trying to help you? What is it, it's probably not as bad as you think, whatever it is!"

She doesn't get it, Phil will never talk to me again, god, I'm so fucking weird, look at me, he won't want to hang out with me anymore! He's been calling, I bet it's because he's angry at me, I tend to make people angry like that, I'm so awkward and annoying, and he probably thinks that I'm ugly. I feel so ungainly walking next to him, he can't see it, I know he can't, but he is the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen, and I am okay. Okay isn't as good as spectacular, there are so many people better than me, more handsome, smarter, more charming, there's no way that he'll ever choose me.

"Whatever," I mumble into my sweater, soft cashmere "it's fine."

Her gaze softens, and she turns away for a moment, "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow. Take care of yourself."

"Mm." I say, returning to my screen.

I hear the door open, and close, and she's gone, and I'm alone again, alone and snuggling into my comforter on my couch. I open a new tab in my web browser, it's the default one that comes with my Mac, and all my friends make fun of me for using it, but I really don't mind.

It's at this point that my hands decide, of their own accord, to type "Phil Lester" into the search bar. Stalker much?

Smooth, Dan, real smooth.

I frown, and click on the first thing that comes up, a video that has a thumbnail of his face, smiling and waving.

"Hey, guys!"

*PHIL POV*

This is the seventh time I've called him in two days.

He doesn't pick up.

I wonder if I've scared him off, I bet he knows it's me that's calling, and that's why he's ignoring me. I would ignore me too. I slip on a jacket, I have to get out, I'm suffocating and I can't breathe. He might be dead, no, don't think that. You're being silly, Phil, of course he's not dead. He's fine, he's just ignoring you. He's alive, and probably okay, and that's what matter, it doesn't matter if he doesn't want to talk to you anymore. That's okay.

That's okay.

I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I said it too many times, didn't I.

I push open the door, and run down the porch, feeling the night air against my skin, breathe in the daggers of the cold. I am alive.

I run, I run as far as I can, I run down the road and for a while nothing exists but me, me and the pavement beneath me and the padding of my heels and the bubbles of light from the street lamps and I am cut away from the world, nothing can touch me, nothing can hurt me. I am alive.

The early snow begins to tumble down and the cold envelopes me, but that doesn't matter, I am the fastest thing alive and nothing can catch me, not even my problems, I can outrun the world. My skin feels like it's freezing over but I'm covered in sweat, and I can imagine his lips pressed against mine, and our fingers intertwined, I'm running faster, I can see his laugh, his smile, the way his dimples go in when he grins, I'm faster than the night itself. My feet pound against the ground, and I know that they don't have arch support or anything but I don't care, my legs are made of lead but I am faster than the wind, I can feel his arm around me, I feel safe, I continue to run, each step sending shock waves into the ground, I can see sweet summer evenings spent out in department stores to avoid the heat, I can't breathe, and my lungs are about to burst. I keep going, frozen through and puffing out fog every time I breathe, I can see nights spent in the dark playing scary video games together, I can see a future for us, I can breathe again. I've only known him for a week and a half, but I can see our future. I guess you can't control the potential you see in a person, because I can see years ahead of us, I can see pillow fights and screams and shouts and hugs and kisses and picnics and long walks together, I slow to a stop. I can breathe again.

I'm okay.


	7. Chapter 7

My shadow grows taller along with my fears

And my friends shrink smaller as night grows near

Tyler's voice resounds in my head.

He's right.

When the sun is climbing window sills

And the silver lining rides the hills

It's getting dark now. The sun is starting to slink into the horizon, slowly at first, and then almost all at once, the way that butter melts on saucepans. Everything is red, dark orange, shades of purple, all the colors in the world and they're in front of me now. Streaks of blue stretch across the sky, and the clouds look like they've been painted on.

I almost have a heart attack, my phone's buzzing against my leg, it feels like I'm being electrocuted. I wonder if the reason I feel like I'm being electrocuted is because it's a natural reaction or something, maybe. My phone's old. It's got a crack in it, from the the time that I accidentally dropped it down the stairs. There's always a feeling of panic when you drop something important, did I break it? Did I break it? It's always terrifying, but once you realize that it's broken, you stop panicking. Or maybe it wasn't broken after all, and you feel a wave of relief, and you stop panicking. Either way, you stop panicking, so maybe it's not the thought of your phone breaking that's causing you to panic. Maybe it's just not knowing.

This feeling courses through me as my phone buzzes, ringing against my leg, I shiver. He hasn't called me in a week. I thought he might be dead, I thought he might be gone. Worst of all, I thought he might have forgotten about me.

It's rung three times now. Four. Is it him? Is it him? Is it him? Is it him?

What if it is? Oh god.

What if it isn't? Oh god.

Making a split-second decision, I fumble through the pocket of my jeans and pull out the phone, still vibrating, almost dropping it. Just a slip of the fingers, and it would clatter to the floor, maybe shatter. My hand almost shaking, I press the home button. INCOMING CALL: DAN HOWELL. I slide the call open, and bring it up to my ear, blood pumping rapidly through my veins.

"Phil?"

It's his voice. He's breathing heavy and the audio is all shaky, I wonder if he's alright.

"Phil, something's wrong."

Oh.

I hear him swallow, "Can you come over? Please? It's so dark."

"Phil, are you there? Can you come over? It's dark, it's really dark."

I lower the phone from my ear, and stare at it in my palm, I can still hear him, it's so quiet out.

"Phil, please, can you come over? Something's wrong."

I continue to stare at the phone. I don't know what to do. He doesn't seem alright to me.

"Come on, talk to me, please! I'm sorry, I know I'm being stupid."

I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do.

His voice drops to a whisper.

"Please, Phil. I'm afraid."

Oh.

I drop my phone, and it crashes to the ground. Something odd happens. I don't feel the panic. I don't feel the fear that you feel when your phone drops, it's not there anymore. I guess that goes away when you stop caring. I pick it up and slip it into my jacket without looking at it. All too slowly, I stand, leaning against the railing. Everything feels more real. The railing, I notice, is aluminum. I'd never noticed this before. I haven't noticed a lot of things before. God, I can't remember what he was wearing the last time I saw him. Maybe there's only so much room in my brain, maybe every memory's space is only rented. Maybe everything is stacked in skyscrapers, enormous filing cabinets with space to be rented out. Lease: Dan Howell. Duration: Lifetime.

Please, Phil. I'm afraid.

Oh.

The words are on a playback in my mind, a broken record spinning around and around, and it's starting to wear itself out.

Please, Phil. I'm afraid.

Please, Phil. I'm afraid.

Please, Phil. I'm afraid.

I'm afraid.

Oh.

It's stuck now, the words have laser engraved themselves on the inside of my skull, I can't see past them. Lease: Dan Howell. They've bought their space, whether I'm willing or not, and they're burned into the backs of my eyelids, my entire head is buzzing and I can't think straight.

I'm afraid.

I reach into my jacket pocket to get my phone, grasping it around the middle. A sharp pain stabs my index finger, glass. I guess it did break after all. It doesn't matter once you stop caring. I fumble with the door handle, and it's locked. Why are things always locked when they ought not to be? And it's the opposite when they should be. Like when you're not hungry, the fridge is full of all sorts of delicious things, but as soon as you're hungry there's nothing but cobwebs. I suppose life just likes to screw us all over like that.

After a few steady wiggles, the key slips into the lock, and the door swings open. I rush inside, pushing the keys back into my back pocket, and pull open a drawer, feeling around for my wallet. I manage to close my fingers around it, and run out the door again, hitting my elbow on the frame. In the movies, heroes can survive gunshot wounds and still look good on camera. Not me, this hurts like hell. Adrenaline pumping through my body, I fly down the steps and run towards the Main Street, ready to hail a taxi by standing in the middle of the road, if that's what it takes. The words are still playing over again in my mind, I can't block them out, they're stuck inside my head, I can't get them out. Lease: Dan Howell.

Please, Phil. I'm afraid.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Woowee, wow! Eighth chapter, huh? Never thought I'd make it this far, to be honest. Anyways, I'd like to thank everyone who has stayed by my side this entire time, supporting me. That's right, all of you. All two of you. No, but really, you guys have been a tremendous inspiration to me, and I really love you all, wether there only be three of you, or if there's eventually hundreds of you. This chapter goes out to Audrey. I know things are hard right now, but stick in there, kid. You'll be okay.

~Dan~

He's not coming. He's not coming. He's not coming.

He's not coming.

He hung up. He hung up, and I'm alone in the dark, locked away with all of my irrational fears, and he is not coming to help me. I knew it, I knew he was angry at me, I knew that he didn't want to talk to me, he didn't even say a word before the line went dead and all I could hear was static and my own heavy breathing. I know I'll be alright in the morning, I always am, and I know that the dark cannot hurt me, but I feel surrounded and suffocated and trapped in the night. It's daytime somewhere, I know, and the dark shouldn't frighten me so much, but it does, and it always has.

I lean back into my pillow, my sheets twisted around my legs and my arms wrapped tight around my body. My hair is itching, the kind of itch that happens when you lay down on a pillow wrong, and it's driving me up the wall, but I don't dare touch it. This is like the feeling that you have in the shower, when you're afraid to wash your face, because one second you might be marveling at the exfoliation powers of your new acne scrub, and the next you see an axe murderer standing at the door, blood all over his face. You didn't hear the door open, the shower is still running. The Grim Reaper lounges against the wall behind him, grinning at you with a knowing smile, clicking his fingers against a scythe. You stand there, naked and still dripping in soap, and wonder if this is really how you'll die. Naked, soap-covered, axe-murdered, and beautifully exfoliated. These are the things I think about at night.

The thing about axe-murder-shower syndrome, as I like to call it, is that there is almost no possibility of this happening. If you wash your face, the most likely thing to happen is your face being washed. The Grim Reaper has better things to do than to wait for two minutes while you sit with your eyes closed to wait out the conditioner time. Even so, axe murders are unnecessarily messy as well. Axes are obscenely outdated, and it'll leave fingerprints all over, dreadful stains on the rug as well. A good, polite murderer, would kill via gunshot wound, a smart, safe and sensible decision. Well, not safe for the person being murdered.

Axe-murder-shower-syndrome is a fairly severe problem in my life, I might add. I dress in the morning by first making sure that I can see through the holes of my tee shirt, I sleep facing the door, and I look over my shoulder so constantly I'm surprised my head hasn't had the decency to twist all the way around as well. It's like this right now, if I scratch my head then I run the risk of exposing my hand to open air, and also losing visibility for a few seconds. This is it, the ultimate FOMO. For now, I am completely safe, of course, as blankets are the ultimate protection to axe-murderers. Nothing can touch me as long as I am under my blanket.

As is my custom, I run through the list of things I have to do tonights, provoking only more worry among my axe-murder-shower-syndrome. Turn the stove off? Yes, you're not burning down the house today, stove. Brush my teeth? Mmhm, take that, plaque. Lock the door? Yes, no axe mur- wait. No, I did, didn't I? I didn't? No, I did... Did I? I did. Did I?

Did I? I don't... think so? No, I think I did, but I'm not really sure... I really ought to check. Yes, but if I check, then I'd have to leave my blanket. Very dangerous. I know I'm being irrational and silly, but there is no way I'm leaving this blanket, they can take it over my dead body. Possibly quite literally. No, I'm not going to check, it doesn't matter, and besides, I'm already all showered and everything, there's no point in getting up. Theoretically, if there is an axe murderer out there, I hope he has the curtesy to let me sleep a little first. I'm awfully tired, actually. I haven't really done anything all day, but not doing anything does take energy from you. Procrastination really takes some effort, you know, I work very hard at it. I'm starting to doze off, I think, and there's really no point in trying to stay awake, even if I wanted to. I won't mind if I get axe murdered, I just hope he doesn't interrupt my sleep cycle. I'm so, so tired...

~Phil~

A cab ride, entry hall, elevator, and three staircases later, I stand in front of his door. It takes all of my self restraint not to barge straight in, and I knock quietly instead. No response. I wonder if he's alright? I wonder if he's okay, I need to know that he's alright. It's been twenty minutes since he called, maybe he's done something awful, maybe he's hurt or something, oh god... I knock again, slightly louder, but he still doesn't answer, and I start to worry, is he alright? Is he alright? Is he alright? I twist the doorknob slowly, hoping against hope that it's unlocked, and to my great relief, it is. Though it may be a tad stalkerish, I ease open the door, and it creaks quietly as I step inside. Immediately, I turn to scan the apartment, but I'm taken aback to see how small the space is. There's a small kitchen pressed up against a living room, and a bedroom, presumably with a bathroom, because there's not one out here.

He's not in the living room or kitchen, so I walk into the bathroom, socks padding against the carpet. His bedroom is vastly different from the rest of the apartment, there's a Muse poster spread above his bed, and his nightside table is home to his laptop, a jumbled mess of headphones, and a grand assortment of three mismatched socks. They seem to be there by accident, though, and they certainly don't give off the impression of being clean. Curled up in the middle of the queen sized bed is Dan, his legs all twisted up in the sheets. His hair is messed up, curling around his head. I didn't know that he had curly hair, but I think he likes it, it's a nice look for him. His face is expressionless, and his chest rises and falls as he sleeps in rhythm with his breathing. I start to lose myself in the curves of his neck, the way his hair falls, and the length of his eyelashes. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I snap out of it, shaking my head to clear it, I am in Dan Howell's apartment. Jesus Christ, I'm a fucking stalker. What am I doing here? I'm inside his apartment. What's worse, he doesn't even know that I'm here! I shouldn't leave though, I have to know if he's alright, but I don't want to wake him. I mean, what if he starts to freak out or something and I'm not there? I elect to stay in the living room until he wakes up, which can't be that long. I stretch out on the compact green couch and take out my phone, browsing the internet. It can't be that long until he wakes up, and then I'll ask him. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. I hope.


	9. Chapter 9

~Phil~

As we stand together, my lips pressed against his, the entire world crumbles away around us into the dark. Sparks fly. He tastes like the cinnamon twist candies my mom used to buy at the convenience shop, sweet with a hint of spice. I can feel him breathing against me, arms wrapped around my neck, and I shiver, I am trapped in this moment, so very perfect and fragile. My breath mingles with his in the air, my body is pressed tight against his, and my head is in the clouds.

We're so close, skin to skin, lips to lips, and the world has stopped spinning. The plug on the ocean's drain has been pulled, time has been shut off and tucked into bed, the butterflies in my stomach are on vacation, and we are the only two things that exist. Tell the sun that it can take a nightcap, tell the moon that we don't need it anymore. Tell the Earth that it's free to go, the laws of physics are off duty and we have no more need for air anymore. We are pushed together, and his lips taste like cinnamon and his hands are around my neck, and nothing else matters. The stars can explode and the sky can fall in, but nothing else matters except him and I, we are alone together.

We pull apart slowly, and he opens his eyes, looking up into mine. His hair is spun chocolate, and he has whole universes in his eyes, just waiting to be explored. I am lost in the curves of his neck, the slight imperfections of his face, the smallest freckles and the finest hairs. He turns away, and I can't help but notice his eyelashes, he is the most wonderful thing I have ever set eyes upon. He is so dark and so handsome, the most exquisite thing ever to exist, every line and arc in his body perfectly crafted. You're beautiful, I say.

He slowly turns his head to look at me, but something has changed, his eyes are empty, black and empty, the galaxies have packed up and moved away, and they are empty and black. He tilts his head at me, his face oddly melancholy, and lifts his hand to my face, tracing my jawline. I avert my eyes, stare at the ground as I feel his fingers lightly brush my neck. He's still looking at me, I can feel it, and he smiles at me sadly with those empty eyes. I look up into them, and mirror his movement, tracing his jawline with my fingers.

You're beautiful, I say. He's still smiling at me, he slides his hand down my shoulder and interlocks with my fingers. Perfect fit. I stare into his eyes, devoid of his stars, solid and dark. Where did my galaxies go?

He looks down at our hands, and smiles at me, a grin with teeth and all. I stare at him, lost in his features. His smile does not extend to his eyes. My hand is still on his neck, it's like my skin is on ice, he's so cold, he's so beautiful. He steps forwards, and we're only inches apart, I want to kiss him again, to feel his lips against mine and his skin, his eyes, his neck. Being apart feels wrong, especially because we're so close, we are so close to touching. He leans forward, and our lips touch, and the electricity envelopes my body, I can feel sparks dancing across my skin, my hair raises on end. He wraps his arms around me, and pulls me closer, I put mine around his neck. He's still ice cold. He doesn't taste like cinnamon anymore.

His hands grip tightly on my shirt, and he pulls away, matching his empty eyes with mine. He tugs on my shirt roughly, pulling me forwards, Phil, he says, Phil. He shakes me again, forcefully, Phil! he says. This is all happening miles away from where I am. His voice is distant and I am still lost in his beauty, his tragically empty eyes and the curves of his face, I am stumbling around looking for reality. He lets go of my shirt, and pushes me, hard. Phil, come on! He says. I don't understand. He walks towards me, and grabs my shoulders, he shoves me, and I lose my balance, tripping backwards. The floor has disappeared, there's nothing left, everything is dark. All I can see is him, standing above me in the blackness, smiling as I fall into the abyss, but I am still oblivious to everything, the world is mute as I continue to blunder around in his exquisiteness. I can still see his lips, his eyes, the real ones, the brown ones that look like melted caramel. I'm still falling, and he's less than the size of a stamp above me, but that doesn't matter. He's so, so divine, gorgeous beyond belief. I say, Y-

Someone is shaking me, and my vision blurs into focus as I blink rapidly to clear my head.

"Phil, what the fuck are you doing in my apartment!"

What? I don't... Is that Dan?

"Phil, answer me, what are you doing here?" He continues to shake me, "Come on, wake up!"

Fumbling for an answer, I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. The words are slurred and quick, but there's no mistaking what I say.

"You're beautiful."

He reacts instantly, continuing with what he was saying before, words crammed together as an instinctive response.

"NoI'mnotbut really, what happened, why the fuck are you here? How did you get into my apartment?"

My mind is clear now, I know exactly what I said, and I know exactly how he responded, and he was wrong. I shift my position so I'm sitting against the armrest of the couch, and tuck my knees up to my chest. I lift my gaze to his, and I'm so relieved to find his eyes there, steady and dark. He looks at me expectantly.

"Phil, come on, wake up! How did you get-"

"You're beautiful."

This time, he understands. He didn't before, and he doesn't think that he's beautiful, but he is, and I need him to know that. I need him to know that.

"You're beaut-"

"Really?"

His voice is a nearly whisper, and the silence is laced with disbelief. He looks at me, and I can tell that he doesn't believe me, he doesn't believe me at all, but he is.

"Yeah." I say softly. I look at him, hopeful, but I can see that he's best friends with his doubt, and I can't compete with that. I look away, I know that he doesn't believe me and I know that he doesn't think he's beautiful, but he's wrong. I can see the cogs whirr in his brain as he tries to process this. He quietly tucks his legs up on the couch and faces me, sitting cross legged. We sit in silence for a few seconds, and it suffocates me.

"You came, didn't you. When I called, you came."

"I- I.. Yeah. I did. You left your door unlocked."

He hits himself in the face, "God, idiot! I knew that I forgot something yesterday!"

"So, what happened yesterday? Are you alright, I thought someone had broken in, or something, are you alright?"

His eyes drop to the floor, embarrassed. His face turns slightly red as he says, "I'm... I, uhm. I'm afraid of the dark."

He thinks it's something to be ashamed of, I know he does, but he's wrong again! He doesn't understand, he's precious. He's precious, and beautiful, and he can't see that. I need him to understand that, "Hey, hey, that's... that's alright. Everyone's afraid of something, that's totally okay, you don't have to be completely fearless."

"Yeah, I guess." He says, staring at his feet dejectedly, shifting slightly.

I know that what I'm about to do could have a wide range of outcomes, but I don't care. I can see him tearing himself apart, I can see it, and I won't let him do that, he's worth more than that. He's the most beautiful thing I've seen, he is all the stars, and more, and I won't let him think anything else.

I reach out, my hand almost shaking, I'm so nervous. Gently, I lift his head up to meet mine, we are only inches apart and I can drown in his eyes. It's all very surreal, I'm high on my own adrenaline and my heart races in my chest. He looks at me and I am utterly captivated, he is so, so exquisite. I can hear myself breathing. He slowly puts his arm around my neck, we are centimeters apart, lips about to touch, my head is spinning so fast. I close my eyes.

Second A/N: Okay okay so Phil is almost at 3 mil I'm sCREAMING okay anyways shoutout to Phil, let's get him there faster! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, like, comment, vote, etc. Love you guys! 3 (lmao i wrote this before phil hit 3mil)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Tenth chapter woo how relevant! Dedicated to Phil, my baby boy has finally reached 3 mil! Proud of you, Phil. Also shoutout to fletcheratls on wattpad bc I got loads and loads of new followers off their terrible, terrible (sorry fam) 5sos fanfic (I've seen your other stuff though and it's pretty good) but yeah shoutout bc I suddenly have 41+ followers I mean wow ok

~Phil~

His lips are seconds from pressing against mine, and electric currents run through my veins, my hands almost shake and I am so very ready. His hand is wrapped around my neck, and it's taking all my self control not to pull him closer to me, I feel like I'm trudging through molasses and it's been an eternity of waiting. I can feel him breathing, hear his heartbeats intermingle with mine, and all I can think is that he is the most wonderful, beautiful thing on this planet, I am so lucky to be in this moment right here, right now. I am walking on stars.

His breath hitches, and he opens his eyes, I can feel him exhale quietly.

Oh.

I pull back gently, I don't want him to think I'm pressuring him into this, I want to kiss him so badly but I won't. Not until he lets me. Not until it's not just me kissing him, it's us kissing each other. One sided kissing doesn't work.

I let my hands slip off his shoulders and into my lap, staring down at them.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, and he withdraws his hands from my neck, folding them in his lap.

We sit like this for a while, cross legged across from each other, and I continue to stare down at my hands. Silence slices through the atmosphere, and there's nothing to break the awkwardness that has instilled itself in the air. Decades pass. I don't look up.

"I'm sorry." I repeat. He doesn't look at me, "I'm sorry."

Still nothing.

After a while, I see his legs shift, and he stands, walks over towards the kitchen. I hear his footsteps pad softly away from me, I say, "Dan, I'm sorr-"

"Stop saying that!" He shouts in a sudden outburst, "Stop... saying that. Please."

I almost apologize before I catch myself, and hold my tongue. I hear him open the fridge, pull something out, he sits down at the counter. He doesn't say anything. He just sits quietly at the counter. Slowly, I stand from the couch, untangling my legs and brushing off my shirt. I can feel his eyes on me as I cross to the door, unhooking my coat off the hook in the wall.

He's still staring at me, I can tell. Trying my hardest not to let any tears drop from my brimming eyes, I open the door, hearing the familiar creak, and shut it behind me. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and I dissolve into tears as soon as I'm in the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind me. I lean back against the railing, trying to blink up at the ceiling so that I might stop crying. It doesn't work.

The doors ping, and slide open, but it's not my floor. A young man with curly brown hair and light green eyes walks in, shrugging a jacket off. I try to dry my eyes best I can without being noticeable, but he still looks at me, concerned.

"Hey, are you alright?"

I smile, "Yeah, just had a little argument, that's all."

Little.

He raises his eyebrows at me, "Are you sure? Where are you going, do you want me to walk you?"

I kind of do, but I shrug, like I don't care, "Sure. I live in Brookside, just by Oak."

The elevator doors ding open and I walk out, he falls in pace next to me.

"So," he says, "What happened? Only if you want to tell me, though, of course, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.

I just look down quietly, "Nothing, really. I thought someone loved me back, but they don't."

He runs his hand through his hair, "I know the feeling, but trust me, it'll get better. What's your name, by the way?"

"I'm Phil," I say, offering a handshake, and he takes it, replying, "PJ, pleased to meet you. So this girl that you're after, you don't think she likes you?"

I sigh, kicking a pebble with my shoe, "No, I don't think he does."

I see the moment cross his face, the oh moment. He recovers quickly, replying, "Yeah, I know the feeling. My boy, he's something special too." He smiles at me, "We started out kinda like you guys, actually."

It's my turn to wear the oh.

I turn to look at him as we walk, "So, what's your boy like? Mine's pretty special, too. Well, I guess he's not mine. Not yet, anyways, maybe not ever."

"Come on, don't talk like that, I'm sure that he likes you! My boy, Chris, I didn't think he liked me at all. Thing is, I was wrong, so you never know!" He shakes his head, "I'm real lucky to have him, you know. Honestly, I have no idea how I managed to end up with him, he's way out of my league."

He says exactly what I'm thinking, he says, "He's the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen."

I pause, "He's the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen."

And as he goes on about how he's the luckiest person alive, to meet this spectacular boy, just to know him, I understand exactly how he feels.

~Dan~

Jesus fucking Christ, fuck me. Fuck.

I sit barefoot on the couch with my knees pulled up to my chest, same as I've been for thirty minutes since he left.

Fuck.

Almost. I almost kissed him. I was so, so close, he smelled like peppermint and vanilla. His eyes were the most beautiful things I have ever seen, I was drowning in them and now I can't breathe anymore. I groan into the pillow, throwing it across the room, why did I do that? I mean, what the fuck Dan? Why do you always have to go and mess these things up, I mean what the fuck?

I roll over, onto my stomach, and pull out my phone, swiping through the lockscreen. To call or not to call, that is the question. Not to call, I decide, popping open the Tumblr app again. I was on Tumblr the first time I met him, I think. The second time, he was on Twitter. Shit app, Twitter. I don't tend to do well with character limits.

Speaking of which, I still haven't told him I found his YouTube channel. It's called AmazingPhil, he actually posts some good stuff, god, I'm a stalker. Well, I mean, technically I did wake up to find him in my apartment, so maybe I'm not the stalker. Thing is, this is good, right? Well, not good, but at least I know that he likes me now. Does he?

I can't tell, I honestly can't, I don't know how he feels about me but all I know is that he probably thinks that I hate him now, and I've fucked the entire situation up, Jesus Christ, what have I done. Everything was going perfectly, but of course, if it all went well then it certainly wasn't me who was about to kiss him. Something always goes wrong, always, I ought to have learned that. I lay back down on the couch.

I should send flowers.

Nah, that's stupid.

Maybe I just won't say anything?

Nah, that's stupid too.

Maybe I'll just let the entire thing kind of die down? I mean, it's not the best solution, but what else do I have? I basically ran away from a kiss, and now he thinks that we're platonic. Bros. Dudes. Guys. Men. Mates.

Yeah, no.

I should do something. But what? What do I do? God, I can't think straight, I mean, I can't _be_ straight. I'm still fuzzy from his breath and the adrenaline of the situation, I think I'll just wait it out. Pretend it didn't happen. But wouldn't that make him feel like I don't care?

But I do care, I just don't want to make it awkward!

So... What now? Do I just... wait for it to blow over?

I shake my head, I don't know anymore. All I know is that I should have kissed him, and I didn't. Fuck you, Dan, I think. Fuck you.


	11. Chapter 11

~Phil~

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure how I managed to get inside of PJ's apartment, or how we managed to switch courses in the first place. It's all very blurry, and frankly I'm not even sure it's real. Back up maybe five minutes, and we walk side by side, making conversation, and I can't help but think that he's painfully pretty. I know, I know, he's got this gorgeous boyfriend (who he continues to talk about every other sentence), I'm simply stating a fact that is fairly difficult to argue against: PJ is one of the prettiest people I've ever met. Except for Dan, of course, but I prefer not to think about that. We're almost at his place, he slips into the conversation, and he's right, I can see an apartment building looming ahead of us.

We reach the door and scale a flight of ridiculously long stairs. I have a habit of staring down the middle bit, where you can see all the way to the bottom. This, I decide, was a mistake, as PJ lives on the seventeenth floor. I can see right down to he gritty basement floor. I shudder a little, and turn to follow him down a poorly lit corridor, wallpaper curling slightly and smelling distinctly like old cat lady. Not that old cat lady is a bad thing, mind you. I really wouldn't mind the smell of cats, but perhaps old lady is a bit much. They always smell like lint, and old brunch napkins. He fumbles with his keys, and pushes open the door, smiling at me. He's got perfect teeth, and for a moment, despite the blatantly underfunded overhead lighting, I am blinded by their whiteness.

I'm only two steps over the welcome mat when I hear an exclamation from inside, "Alas, my lover hath returned! Wait- Peej... what's this?"

A brown haired boy with a smile that could generate enough electricity to keep this entire building running for months practically catapults himself into PJ's arms, but then glances behind him and sees me. His eyes widen and he steps back two paces, dropping to his knees and mocking fake heartbreak, "What's this, Peej, who's he?"

He clutches his heart, feigning a look of horror and adding a gasp for dramatic effect,"Is this where you've been all day! With him! What's his name, Peej," he walks forward on his knees and grasps the bottoms of PJ's flannel, shaking them slightly,"what's his name!"

It takes all of my energy not to burst into giggles, and I can see that he's having a similar problem. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly upward. PJ chuckles, bending down to plant a kiss on the brown haired boy's head, "Chris, this is Phil! I met him on my way home from work!"

Chris rises to his feet and dusts off his shirt, holding out his hand to meet me, "Enter the scoundrel! Nice to meet you, Phil, I'm Chris, PJ's," He raises his eyebrows slightly and winks at me, "companion..."

PJ just laughs and shakes his head, "Stop embarrassing him, here, sit down Phil."

I do, and turn to look at Chris a little more. He's got short dark brown hair, but lighter than Dan's and swept to the side a little more. He turns to smile at me, and my breath hitches a little. His eyes are exactly the same shade of mahogany, all too familiar. I get a kind of twisted feeling in my stomach, like something's slipping around down there. Chris reminds me of someone, and it doesn't take me long to work out who, my stomach goes back to knotting itself. I wonder if my stomach gets nervous as well, maybe this is its way of relieving stress, or something. Like how I tend to clasp my hands together.

I must have frowned or something, 'cause a few moments later PJ's got his hand on my shoulder and is staring into my eyes with concern, asking if I'm okay. "Yeah," I say, "yeah, I'm alright, just, uh, working through some stuff."

He smiles at me again, goddamn, what is up with everyone smiling at me today? I wouldn't smile at me, I know that for sure. Chris puts his arm around PJ, and says, "So, Phil, care to educate us on your richly dramatic predicament? Do tell, who this handsome suitor of yours is?"

My stomach keeps squirming around, I don't feel particularly inclined to tell them all about Dan, that's something just for me, me and Dan. Even if I have been dying to tell someone, I can't tell Jan, she's still crushing too hard on him and she might not like me, and it's not like I have that many other friends, unless you count the old homeless man behind the grocery store. I really don't. Besides, this isn't something I particularly want to share with them right now. Don't get me wrong, PJ's great, and lovely and beautiful, but I literally just met him tonight. Maybe it's just a little bit paranoid, but I don't really want to tell them about Dan, not yet.

I guess that they've noticed me being uncomfortable, and Chris frowns a little, "Hey, it's okay, you don't have to tell us. I get it, it can get pretty rough out there sometimes."

I smile politely, "Yeah, it's okay though. I just don't really feel like talking about it too much."

PJ pats me on the shoulder a little, "I totally understand, you don't have to tell us until you're ready, that's totally okay."

I feel kind of bad, and I know I shouldn't, but I always have this tendency to bend to people, I don't like to disappoint. Still, this is something that I think I'm going to keep for just me, little memories to run over in my head late at night.

That night when I'm heading home from PJ's, his number pressed into my hand on a little piece of paper, and his 'call me if you need anything' ringing in my ears, I start to drift about in my mind, letting the currents drag me wherever they want to. I really ought to film a new video soon, my subscribers might be getting useless. Not that they actually care too much, but I don't want to keep them waiting... I shake my head, let my mind drift again a little in the night air, of course, I end up at the Howell residence, as usual. It just now occurs to me that he may very well have seen my videos. Oh god, I think, how cringeworthy they feel now, oh god. No, he hasn't watched them, I try so very hard to convince myself, no, he hasn't watched them, it's fine. Now that I think about it, he actually probably hasn't. It's fine.

I listen to the plodding of my feet on the floor, thinking about him and his and lips and eyes and thoughts. I can remember every detail, I climb the stairs to my building. I wonder what he's thinking now. I listen to the creak of my door swinging open on the front porch. I wonder if he misses me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Aight motherfuckers here's your chapter 12 I'm so sorry I've been hiding i just kinda have rly bad writer's block okay here you go**

~Dan~

I am officially one of the most pathetic people on this earth, next to the woman printed on that tuna brand I always walk past in aisle four, Cheryl, and the mustard colored cat with the squashed tail that lives behind the gas station. I am officially more pathetic than Cheryl, that's how bad it is.

The first day, I expressly told myself that I would not get into another funk and stay in my apartment for weeks, I told myself that I would be strong and move on with life and everything would be fine.

I lied.

Look, it's not my fault, honestly, I'm just really not very good at these things, okay? Besides, I have my Netflix and the boxed full Game of Thrones series two that my mum got me for Christmas, what could go wrong? Louise. Louise could go wrong.

After four angry phone calls, three voicemails, two visits and a post on my Facebook wall, I think it's safe to say she's out to get me. I sit in my bunker, awaiting my inevitable doom. She is the shadows in the night, behind every shadow and through every doorway. There is no escaping her. I live in constant fear of- Oh, there she is again, shouting at me on Twitter. Fuck.

Really, though, my life is mostly just sitting around and contemplating the inevitable weight of life's problems, I mean, we'll all die some day, right? And when we do, we'll be forgotten forever, and sure, some of us might go down in history books, but one day those history books will be forgotten too! Isn't existentialism great! Aha, you know, I used to think that philosophy was silly and there was no real point in spending any time on it... Ha... aha... ha...

I also have a bit of a procrastination problem, you see, because I have thus far been relying on my parents' money for this apartment. I know, I know, pathetic, but whatever. Anyways, just this past month, they've cut me off, so I need to find a job, and fast, otherwise I'll end up on the streets. Problem is, about two years ago, I dropped out of college, so that's a big negative for most jobs. I'm really in a bit of a pickle right now, too I've just got to get up off my ass and get out there and get jobs.

Huh. I wonder what Phil does for a living... He strikes me as one of those baristas you'd see at starbucks, you know, the cute ones that you'd try to give your number to, but it'd end up being passed to the wrong person? Not that I'd ever try to give my number to him. Even though, technically, I already have, but it's not like that, I swear! We're just friends. The homo is completely nonexistent. No homo. The homo is far, far away from us.

Alright, let's suppose, just for the sake of theorizing, that there might be a little homo. Not full homo, just... a little homo.

I push the thought from my head, that's absolute bullocks.

Nonsense. Blasphemy. The queen herself would frown upon these thoughts, and I, ever patriotic, must respect her wishes.

Anyways, just in case it doesn't work out with any jobs I apply for, I've been looking into less expensive apartments, and all of my choices do seem rather ghetto, I must say.

'Brand new sofa included in apartment, armchair may have bloodstains!'

'Stab marks in wall may cost extra to repair, but living area is spacious and not at all creepy!'

'Complimentary dead body stuffed under mattress, will pay for utilities!'

Yeah... no...

It's only just now coming to my attention that the room is undeniably stuffy, and my clothes are starting to look rather undesirable, covered in food stains. I exhale, and rise from the couch, pulling my shirt over my head on the way to the bathroom. I unbuckle the useless belt from my black skinny jeans, tugging them over that just-too-small spot near the heel that every pair of skinny jeans has.

I run the water on full, and within five minutes, steam clouds the mirrors and fogs up my reflection. I stare at my reflection, fuzzed, blurred and not defined at all, really.

Same.

I slip off my socks and step under the water, deliciously warm and relaxing. I feel the grime slide off my skin, and I run my fingers through my hair, wondering, dear me, whatever will I do? I've never really had any true passions. I thought I was going to graduate college, but that didn't work out. When I was little I had mild little interests, but I don't like like anything. Not really. They always tell you that you'll figure it out in college, but what if you don't? What, then? Ever since I was really young, I've had this fear that I'd never figure it out, that I'd wake up at sixty seven year old and realize that I spent my entire life trying to pretend that I have time. I don't.

One time, you've got one time to figure it out. One time to twist, and one time to shout, and if you don't fucking get it the first time 'round then that's it. You're done. This is why I can't stand it when people say things like 'You only live once!' Don't you get it? You're right. You have one chance, and then you die, and if you haven't made your mark on the world then you have failed, and died average. That'll be me, a faceless tombstone among many others, and people will miss me, but will the next generation know my name? Will I be a legend, written down in the history books? No. I won't, and that fucking terrifies me more than anyone could ever try and pretend it doesn't.

I sigh, resigning and letting the water run over my head, drip over my eyelashes.

Fuck, I'm so lost.


	13. Chapter 13

**Alright so this is a chapter based off personal experience because wheeoo and i having a time at school right now jesus fuck**

~Phil~

Crushes are very much like birds of prey.

At first, they sit upon their perches, unnoticed, waiting and biding their time for unsuspecting prey to pass below. They begin to circle overhead, drawing in for the perfect kill, and the victim may be vaguely aware, but no real threat is posed.

All of a sudden, warranted by no particular time or item, they decide it's time to strike, and dive downwards for the attack. The poor unfortunate target now must deal with the immediate danger and peril, and still they hold very little chance of survival. The rush of the moment is terrifying, exhilarating and exhausting, and most times, fatal.

Let me tell you a thing, a lot can happen in three days.

It might not seem like a big deal, but there's a huge difference between liking someone, and liking someone. I probably sound quite a bit like a brick stupid teen romance protagonist, but right now, I really don't care. It's not one of those the-stars-are-exploding kinds of things, but rather a I-now-understand-why-people-in-content-relationships-don't-get-celebrity-crushes kind of thing. This is really becoming quite a problem, and honestly, I'm not sure how to deal with it.

Fucking crushes tend to take over your life, and suddenly 'all the love songs are about him,' yeah yeah, I understand all of the hype now. I've had crushes before, but they were mostly the temporary kind, like the Starbucks coffee kind of bubble crush that dies down once you leave the shop. I've had other varieties, the Unattainable, the Cool Kid, and the Sweet One, but this is entirely different, and Jesus, fuck. This is one of those full-on-death kinds of things, and the funny thing is that I don't even know where it came from.

A while ago, I became aware of the real dating conundrum. When you're young, you tend to think that dating is what ensues when your crush just happens to like you back, but unfortunately that is not the case. Dating is more of a trial program, you have a limited amount of time to decide whether or not you like them at all, and even then you may not feel the same butterfly feeling you have when you get crushes. The reality of it all is that, unfortunately, your crush probably doesn't like you back, and you'll have to live with that fact for as long as you live, probably (or at least until you stop liking them).

I now understand why they're called [crush]es.

Sadly, though, I've never exactly been the type of person that people get crushes on, I'm the type of person that people get 'mildly interested' in, and that's not really the best romantic advantage to have. It's also really fucking annoying when you're trying to get yourself in a stable relationship and actually lead a happy romantic life.

In my experience, this kind of crush tends to die down a little after the first day, but it doesn't go away. Kind of like how if you fall four stories from a building, the shock will hurt most in the first few seconds, but you'll still break bones. Alright, a bit of a gory metaphor, but you catch my drift. It's like that feeling you get when listen to the beginning of Panic! At The Disco's 'Memories'. Really, though, it's just a fuzzy warm feeling that consumes you until you can't breathe for thinking about them, and you start to realize that the butterflies in your stomach have claimed permanent residency.

It's terrifying and interesting and strange all at the same time, and you start to wonder if having a crush is really worth all of these nerves and nail-biting.

I bite my lip, swinging my legs off of the bed and crossing to the wardrobe to pull on a blue button up collared shirt. Slipping into a pair of shoes and a coat, I open the door and walk down the corridor and stairs, stumbling a little in the winter chill. It's still just as shitty and cold as normal, but the air buzzes around me, nervous energy collecting in the frost.

I'm not sure where to go, so I let my feet drive me, apparently leading me to one of my favorite haunts, a small diner on fifteenth street with excellent interior lighting and a tendency to attract a wide variety of dog walkers (and their dogs). Another bonus is that they always happen to be tuned to a particular radio station that frequently plays my favorite bands.

Unfortunately (a word coming up in my life a little too often for my liking), the aforementioned diner is not open, and I seem to have missed operating hours entirely, as the lights are off and there's no familiar warbling coming from the loudspeakers. For a few moments, I ponder what to do, because I honestly have nowhere better to be.

In what's probably a lapse in proper judgment, I make a snap decision. Anxiously checking behind my shoulder every few seconds, as this isn't exactly the best neighborhood, I cross to the back of the building. I find a respectable-looking patch of ground and set down my bag, leaning against the wall.

I have absolutely no idea why I'm here.

I guess that sometimes loneliness can drive you to do some pretty crazy things, but I'm not... doing anything. Maybe simply being here is something, but I feel like I'm just waiting. I don't really know what for, but I'm waiting.

I've noticed that a lot of my life has been spent waiting, waiting for high school to be over, waiting for college applications to come back, to move out, to get a job, to this and to that. Waiting gets awfully boring after a while, but at the same time there's an odd sort of comfort in it, the illusion of productivity. Like you know you should be doing something but this is an acceptable excuse not to, because waiting is supposedly a necessary thing that all people need to do. But I've lived my entire life like this, and it starts to get to you, you know? At first, you think-

I stiffen, staring to the right in an attempt to see whatever had just made that noise, a shuffling noise from just around the corner. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I inch forward, terrified of what might lay beyond in the shadows, but all I can hear is the crunch of approaching footsteps.

"Who's there?"

 **AY it's shameless self promo time go check out my other fic To Hell And Back [wink wink] I've spent a lot of time on it and I'm very attached and invested, so if you want to strap yourself in for a ride of tears and emotional train wrecks then click that add to library button and yeah**

 **(please read it, I will give you much gold, the blood of a virgin, that toothpick from eBay that zayn malik apparently used, and my firstborn son)**


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